


proper motivation

by Gildedstorm



Series: to eternity's end [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, it's hard and no one understands, it's hard having your former emperor and most hated enemy in your head, spoilers for early kotfe chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedstorm/pseuds/Gildedstorm
Summary: Behind her are ruined glories, and Rkorya only sees more loss ahead - loss and violence and rage fit to sear Zakuul to its very core.Now if only Valkorion could stoptalking.





	

Almost everything feels wrong. Even this ship is _off –_ the Gravestone lacks the Fury’s quiet hum, and the space in its seemingly endless corridors echoes, the ancient machinery groaning whenever Koth’s piloting demands more than the circuits are used to. Despite it being hers – or rather, Lana and HK have claimed it as such, and they outnumber Koth, while Senya doesn’t seem to care either way – she couldn’t rest easily here, not when her countless losses are so recent, each one a bleeding wound.

How fortunate, that she’s in no mood to rest.

“Back again,” Valkorion remarks as she sweeps into the one area that _does_ put her somewhat at ease. The Force is strong here, though she can’t help wondering why such a ship would need a sanctuary to the Dark Side, and how much blood was spilled to ensure it. “You know you don’t have to come here to speak to me. My spirit is tied to you – wherever you go, I must follow.”

Rkorya does her best to ignore him – he stands just at the corner of her eye, armour a faint glimmer that’s distracted her more than once in the past few days. That she can see through him is no reassurance when she would have gladly paid for the chance to put her lightsaber through him again. “You’ve already proven you speak up whenever and wherever you like. Believe it or not, this isn’t about you.”

She is still weaker than she’d like, in body. It’s not something worth complaining about, especially when Lana hovers over her as it is. The numbness in her fingers, the shortness of breath, it will all fade with enough time, and as long as she can still grip a lightsaber, she can fight.

Here, she can do much more than that.

The Gravestone, the presence of her ragtag crew, even Valkorion slips away as the Force seethes around her. Jaesa had once told her that before she embraced her emotions, the Dark Side felt cold to her; a chilling weight to bear up against. Rkorya can’t imagine it. The Force is a weight, yes, and a crushing one – it presses on her shoulders, sinks into her bones, sets every vein alight with her own rage. Faltering would mean losing her grip and being swept away, but to stand firm and embrace it is to feel _alive_. This power is her birthright and privilege and it, at least, is unchanged.

Like this, she feels ready to burn Zakuul to the ground, topple the throne and slaughter Arcann and his sister. Like this, she can –

“Impressive. Your strength has already recovered from your ordeal.” It might have been a remark on Dromund Kaas’ weather, if not for the faint note of approval, but it’s enough to make her tense, gritting her teeth. “I chose well when I named you as my Wrath.”

“And I chose well when I renounced you,” she snaps, reining in her temper before she can lash out. The air thrums, and then falls still. Once, she would have been humbled by his approval, honoured beyond words. _Once_ , before Ziost, before she forced herself to see the truth.

The Empire had stood, even without its Emperor. The war still raged. The galaxy spun out its myriad orbits, and she had thought herself ready to stand beside Marr and face it.

Now the Empire is weak, Marr long dead, the galaxy forever changed. Everything she fought for is gone, and she clings to her few certainties; Lana’s loyalties, the Force, her hatred of the spirit stuck in her head.

For all the good it does her.

He sighs, as if her anger is a personal disappointment. “You cling to the past, still. The Empire, the Sith Code, the Dark Side itself... these were all necessary for a time, but you have reached the limits of what they can do for you. You must move beyond them, as I have.” When she doesn’t deign to show she’s listening, he frowns and presses on. “What strengthened you is now merely a shackle, and while it chains you, you will never be able to defeat my children.”

“So you keep saying.” That he disregards her animosity so easily is more than a personal slight – the Dark Council would have stepped carefully around her in this mood – but it’s also worrying, somewhere beneath the layers of anger that keep her moving forward. Whatever his plans are with his power rooted to hers, her defiance means nothing to him.

Rkorya hopes, in quiet moments when she can think of a future past her vengeance and Zakuul shattered, that she will prove him wrong.

“You doubt me still,” Valkorion says, brow furrowing in a show of regret. “I remind you that my fate is tied to yours. You are my only hope of restoring my legacy before Arcann and Vaylin ruin it completely, and destroy everything _you_ care for in the process. I have offered you knowledge, my power... what more can I do to prove my sincerity?”

His _sincerity_. It takes all her control to not snarl at him, even knowing she’ll be threatening thin air. “You had your chance when you named me on Voss, when I still thought you were someone worthy of obeying.

“Everything you’ve done since has ruined it – killing Marr, devouring Ziost, using the Empire to further your own power at every turn. I don’t want your gifts of secrets, your warnings _._ I will tear down your legacy on my own, and you can regret that if you noticed my _potential_ as your pawn just a little earlier, you could have had me hanging off your every word. You only have yourself to thank for my defiance, Valkorion.” Perhaps he senses this isn’t an argument he can win, or is merely impressed by her level of venom – either way, he doesn’t reply and lets her whirl around and stalk away.

It’s less of a grand gesture than Rkorya would like. That she’s left him behind is only a fleeting illusion – sooner or later he’ll return with another offer of power, his hungry insistence that she could be _more_. But for now, she glows with rage, her head clearing and her weakness forgotten, and it almost feels like nothing has really changed.

“We will have to see,” Valkorion says, companionably as if he stood at her shoulder.

_Almost._


End file.
